


Diplomacy

by trollmela



Series: The Woodland King [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-10 14:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12300600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: Diplomacy was a difficult game for the War King of Mirkwood, and centuries had passed since the last human delegation had requested an audience. Celeborn had warned him: all realms looked to him now, wondering whether there would be war in the north. Legolas’ attentions, however, were not on Erebor, but on Dol Guldur. (3rd part in the AU series "The Mirkwood King")





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently watched the Hobbit again and found this story on my harddrive, almost ready for posting.
> 
> This is the third story in the series the Mirkwood King. It's been so long since the last part that I'll spare you having to (re)read the others: the series is based on the idea that Thranduil intervenes when Smaug attacks Erebor during King Thrór's reign and is killed. Legolas is now king.

The man bowed his golden head respectfully, his long hair held back by twisting braids which looked plain compared to those of the Woodland King. The man’s eyes were watchful; weary; he was not used to elves. The guard that had brought him here before the throne had disappeared, and that left him in the company of four even more blank-faced, slender elves bearing armor and spears, guarding their king seemingly with their gaze in the wind instead of upon either their sire or the visitor.

The king’s throne was an elaborate construct of wood and antlers positioned high on a platform above the ground upon which the human messenger stood. The king appeared even more impressive and otherworldly to the man than what he had been prepared for. They had heard, in the realm of Rohan, that the new elven king was young by the count of his people. Men found it difficult to estimate an elf’s age; they all appeared to be eternally young to them, and the elven king was no different. The eyes alone, a striking blue set in a pale face, revealed that he had seen many more years, centuries perhaps, than any man ever would.

“King Fréaláf sends word from the Realm of Rohan to King Legolas of the … Great Greenwood,” the messenger announced. The hesitation before the name of King Legolas’ realm suggested that the Rohirrim usually called it by a different name, and that the messenger had needed to recall the words he was to say in the common tongue.

“We appreciate the King of Rohan’s attention to elven affairs,” Legolas replied. It came out unchecked, and the Rohirrim’s hardening expression told Legolas that he had started off wrong; arrogant, more like his father, less like himself. Diplomacy was not this king’s forte, had never even been seen as necessary; after all, he should never have become king.

Legolas rose from his throne and stepped down to the level of the messenger. He had still not replaced his crown of mourning, a plain circlet black as soot with none of the proud, towering elegance of his father’s kingly jewels of choice.

“Welcome to the Great Greenwood, also called Mirkwood. The shadows here are long, but you are safe in our home and I hope that our hospitality is satisfactory.”

His features appeared softer up close than in the strange light on the platform. The Rider relaxed slightly and nodded.

“Thank you.”

Plain speak he was familiar with, and King Fréaláf had considered that this elven king might prefer it, too. The War King some called him, a name born from his status as an accomplished warrior prince, who had faithfully defended his father’s realm and people against untold evils. From the messenger bag around his shoulder, the messenger drew out a letter sealed with green wax and handed it to the King with another short bow.

“My King sends his condolences to you for your father’s passing. The Rohirrim have lost lives to cold drakes, but the tragedy must be even greater for the immortal folk.”

Legolas’ long fingers briefly froze around the letter, then he retrieved it from the Rohirrim’s hand.

“Immortal to age we may be, immortal to death we are not. We wood-elves have more experience with that than other elven folk, but indeed the elven realms are not as used to new rulers as the mortal realms.”

Legolas reminded himself of Celeborn’s words to him; all realms looked to him now. They needed to know that the Greenwood was strong, that their relations with other realms would at the very least not worsen, that despite the grief the dwarves of Erebor had brought upon the elven realm, there would not be outright war in the north.

“Thank you for bringing this letter to me. I will read it at the earliest opportunity, and would ask you to stay here for a few days until I have finished my reply.”

“That was also my King’s wish. Thank you, and I will await your summons.”

The king’s steward had appeared without a sound, and he indicated for the man to follow. He would be lead deep into the caves, to guest chambers at the other end of the hill. There, the sunlight reached the chambers from the south and the west, and while elves considered the rays of morning to be the most precious, men tended to prefer the warmer light of the afternoon.

Once they had gone, Legolas settled down upon the stairs to his throne. He wondered how long it took to get used to that seat. It was not in itself uncomfortable, and yet he did not feel comfortable upon it either. Curiously, he regarded the green seal. He did not remember ever seeing such a letter while his father was king, and he wished he had had the time to ask why; he traced the wax and the structure of the parchment, committing it to memory in case he would never see it again. Then he carefully broke the seal open and unfolded the letter.

It was not as cautiously worded as that from Gondor by Steward Beregond (sent by messenger bird, for no rider could have overtaken the Rohirrim). Legolas had heard that the Rohirrim were more direct than their southern neighbors, and he could appreciate that as someone whose people were seen as a similar anti-thesis to the Noldor. 

He took the letter with him to the King’s study where he contemplated the map upon the wall.

Rohan was far; almost two thirds of Mirkwood and then the plains lay between the wood-elves’ halls and the Riddermark. Factually, the elven king’s realm did not cover the entire forest, as his people had decreased greatly in number for centuries. Evil had grown and Thranduil had been forced to retreat several times with his people to the north; some had not wished to come, stayed, and had then never been seen again.

Dol Guldur was the bastion of that evil, and that dark fortress was close to Rohan. Quietly, mentally, Legolas had been preparing for some time now to attack it. He had not spoken to his advisors yet; his previous shield brothers might guess at it; Celeborn already knew, and Legolas was aware that that was not the order in which things should be done.

Attacking Dol Guldur had been his second thought beyond his grief; only Erebor and the dwarves had come first. He could not kill the naugrim, although in his grief and anger he often felt that desire; but he could do his very best to kill whatever evil Dol Guldur sent out and at last level that fortress so that it could no more be claimed. It would ease the pressure on his realm and his people, hopefully afford them more peace. Yet he had to plan carefully, for no few warriors had died with his father, and he knew that he would be asking a lot from his people if he marched to war so soon after.

With all those thoughts in mind, he sat down behind his desk, dipped his quill in ink, and started drafting a reply to King Fréaláf. He did not expect Rohan to fight with him as Celeborn had promised in the name of his own realm; but he needed to warn them, for they might be watching and take a gathering elven army so close to them the wrong way.

Legolas made a mental note to send a bolt of spider silk as a gift. It was a precious material, but the best way of assuring the Riddermark of his good intentions. There were many things he wanted to change in this new era.


	2. Chapter 2

The Gondorian emissaries came a few weeks later. Their steward had announced their coming in his brief message, and they were lucky that he had: otherwise, a pack of spiders would have devoured them before they ever reached the elven king’s halls. When they finally did arrive, in the company of a few of the path’s guardians, half of them were still looking terrified and all of them ecstatic to have reached safe territory.

Legolas himself only saw them several hours after their arrival, as he’d been meeting his captains and counselors. The king’s plans were still far from coming to fruition, but they were taking shape. Scouts had been sent far and wide throughout the woods and to Dol Guldur to determine the enemy’s strength. They had not yet returned when a different visitor entered the king’s halls.

The elves were having a feast for the Gondorians out in the forest, at a place where it was still green and safe. Tables and benches had been set up, food and wine retrieved from the cellars; it was the height of summer, and Legolas had not felt like celebrating for a long time. This was the first feast since his father’s death.

He’d had taken care to invite the families of those elves that had been killed by the dragon alongside his father or been injured, and he was pleased that many had come. They, like he, still felt the grief all too strongly, but the feast was perhaps a first step towards healing and moving on. Not everyone was there, of course. Some widows as well as parents who had lost their only child had left the forest to sail West. Others had chosen to remain; the Silvan elves in particular did not see the sense in sailing to a land their ancestors had rejected. A few had already faded; others would follow.

With so many elves in attendance, the king’s table had become quite long. The Gondorian delegation had not said anything against that, and Legolas had told them of the sacrifice of those sitting with him. They had understood, or at least said so; ten men in all had come to the Greenwood, some of them soldiers charged with protecting the diplomats, who were less able with a sword. All of them, from what Legolas had seen, had so far acted respectfully and some of them didn’t find it difficult at all to involve the elves sitting near them in conversation.

And while the elves and men drank and ate their fill, a figure appeared so suddenly in their midst that the elves shot up from their seat in surprise, the watchmen aimed their bows at him and Legolas’ hand was poised to give the sign to shoot before anyone had had time to do more than become aware of him.

“King Legolas!” The figure shouted, and Legolas lowered his hand, for it was the brown wizard Radagast that had surprised them so.

“Radagast! You must not surprise a warrior people so!” He berated.

“It’s urgent though! You’re making a grave mistake!” Radagast insisted.

Slowly, Legolas sat back down with a frown. He wouldn’t dismiss Radagast’s accusation immediately, but this wizard was particularly hard to understand at times.

“Why don’t you join us first and have something to eat and drink before we speak, in private, of any mistakes I may be making,” he suggested.

Radagast blinked at him and looked around, appearing as if he was seeing the great congregation, the tables, and the food for the first time.

“Ah. Well, yes, perhaps that is a good idea,” he stuttered.

Who knew what wizards ate over in Valinor, or what Radagast ate in his home, a place Legolas had only seen once and found a little too small for comfort, nor had he been entirely convinced of its structural stability. In any case, Radagast readily enjoyed himself, although he pointed out to Legolas at various times:

“We really must speak.”

“Yes, Radagast, we will. After dinner, or perhaps tomorrow. Will your warning wait that long?”

Radagast gave him a shrewd look. “Have your scouts returned yet from Dol Guldur?”

Legolas frowned. “No, they have not.” He set down his cup. “Should I be worried?”

“Hmmm. Perhaps. Yes. They should not enter that fortress.”

“Dol Guldur?” Barandir asked, the oldest and leader of the Gondorian delegation asked. “You sent spies there?”

“Scouts,” Legolas corrected him. “That place is the origin of much evil in the Greenwood. We must keep an eye on it.”

“But you’re not planning to just keep an eye on it,” Radagast contradicted him.

Legolas did not reply.

“It’s not orcs or any human sorcerer you need to fear in Dol Guldur.”

The Morgul blade he dropped by Legolas’ plate quite ruined any appetite he had had left.

* * *

The blade lay on his writing desk, deceptively quiet and plain for such a dangerous artifact. Legolas had not dared touch it with a bare hand, using instead the leather wrapping the wizard had brought it in; apparently, wizards did not want to feel or risk the tainted magic either.

“The Nazgûl dwell there then,” Legolas sneered.

He hoped dearly that his scouts would not be noticed and that they would return home soon. He had sent Tauriel after them, trusting her with such a dangerous mission that she had volunteered for immediately. He missed her company, but so many other things occupied him and his mind these days that he had not found the time to spend time with her except when their duties required it.

“Regular warriors will not oust them,” Radagast noted. “I wanted to tell you first, because I saw your scouts pass and figured where they were going. But now that you know, I must tell Gandalf and Saruman, the entire White Council, as soon as possible.”

“Therefore also Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond.” Legolas thought for a bit. “Lord Celeborn promised his aid. The Lady Galadriel must hear of this development as soon as possible. You’re right, we do not have the magic required to force the Nazgûl to flee. I must ask her for help, and I think she is the most likely to offer me support in this. Saruman, I know, has dismissed my father’s concerns before.”

“He must listen this time! I have evidence!”

“Do what you must, and I will do my part and inform Lothlórien.”

* * *

Radagast had hardly left when Barandir requested an audience. The man looked at him with different eyes now, more cautious than before, but also determined to say his piece.

“I, too, recognized that long dagger last night,” he told the king in a firm tone.

Legolas’ eyebrows drew together, and another would have recognized his father in him, but this man had not known King Thranduil.

“It was a weapon of the Ringwraths, was it not?”

“Yes, it was,” Legolas confirmed, for he saw no sense in denying it. “And if Nazgûl are in Dol Guldur, the danger to the north is far greater than we feared even in our darkest dreams.”

“Then the wraiths and the filth that follows them must be destroyed.”

“A thing easily said. It was many centuries ago that Gondor lost Mina Ithil and Osgiliath to the Nazgûl, and what was true then is still true today: they cannot be killed, and not even the elves have found a way so far.” With an unhappy frown, he looked out at the forest. “We, the woodelves, have the smallest chance of all the elven folk. We must protect and guard ourself only through the strength of our arms. We do not have the magic of the Lady Galadriel in the Golden Wood, nor the secrecy and protection of Lord Elrond in Rivendell. Neither of their borders can be easily penetrated, but ours are vulnerable.”

The man relented.

“What, then, will the Great Greenwood do instead?”

“We wait. Radagast goes to alert the Council of the Wise, which reunites many of the strongest elves and wizards. I will alert Lord Celeborn, and do what I can to encourage them to act.”


End file.
